Back at the hotel, I showered and rewashed my hair. I remembered that Jaime had asked me to wear it long and loose. I debated whether to give in to him, but ultimately decided in his favor. It took me almost an hour to blow dry my waist-length locks. There was a reason why I wore it in an easy braid, but I had to admit it looked gorgeous loose, cascading down my back and over my shoulders like a whimsical cape. My mane of hair was my treasured asset. After my wicked, narcissist mother chopped it off with a meat scissors in a drugged-out fit of rage, I vowed never to cut it short again. My long hair, in some way, was my security blanket. And it covered my scar.
After the blow dry, I did my makeup, keeping it light and simple. I studied my heart-shaped face in the bathroom mirror and was pleased. I looked soft but sexy.
I put on some light jazz and went through my ritual of matching my outfit to my undergarments. The dress I chose was a flowy powder blue chiffon V-neck Valentino that accented my narrow waist and my full breasts without giving too much away. Beneath it, I wore delicate lacy blue lingerie from our popular “Hot Nights” collection—an underwire bra, v-string panty, and matching garter that held up my sheer silk hose. While slithering the stockings up my legs, I’d once again thought about my beloved mentor, Madame Paulette. Sadness swept over me. I was relieved that I had told her my secret. The one that had haunted me my entire adult life. Yet, I still bore the weight of my misdoing on my heart. And the nightmares had never stopped.
Forcing negative thoughts to the back of my head, I stepped into a pair of strappy, silver stilettos that went well with the demure dress. Grabbing a soft blue pashmina shawl and a clutch, I headed toward the elevator. I was purposely fifteen minutes early. I wanted to be at the entrance to the hotel before Mr. Zander. And have the time to rehearse what I was going to say to him about mixing business with pleasure. Okay. Sex. The very thought of his cock sent a rush of wetness to my panties. Stop it, Gloria. Get a grip! You can’t let this man do this to you!
As I stood anxiously at the hotel’s entrance, Vivien came flying in with a bunch of shopping bags in her hand. All of them were from high-end Madison Avenue designer boutiques. A little shocked to see me, she gave me the once-over.
“Enjoy your business dinner,” she smirked with an emphasis on the word “business.”
I tweaked my lips to smile. “I’ll see you down here at 8:30 tomorrow morning. We’ve got a full day of agency meetings.”
Without another word, she skirted past me. Vivien was just too damn impetuous for her own good. Lucky for her, Daddy was Gloria’s Secret largest shareholder and Chairman of the Board and protected her surgically enhanced ass. If I could, I would fire the entitled little bitch in a New York minute.
A warm, firm pair of hands on my bare shoulders stopped me in my thoughts. And then through parted hair, I felt soft warm lips nuzzle the nape of my neck. Tingles raced down my spine. I jerked and spun around. Jaime!
I swear my eyes were drooling. Tonight, he was Mr. Preppy—clad in a crisp blue and white striped collarless shirt that was unbuttoned enough to flaunt his taut chest. The shirttail hung loose over tight but not too tight perfectly pressed jeans. Navy suede loafers covered his sockless feet, and a rich cashmere sweater, almost the same blue as my shawl, wrapped around his broad shoulders. Bottom line…he looked fucking sexy. And smelled intoxicating.
I sucked in a breath. “Your car or mine.”
“Mine.” He studied me. “My sex goddess, you look like an angel. Blue is definitely your color, and you should always wear your hair that way.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, trying to hold it together while he called his driver. Why did he have to say the word “sex”? Though I had mastered my “all good things must come to an end speech,” my hormones were already raging. I bit down on my lip.
His car pulled around outside, and as his driver held open the rear passenger door, he slid in after me. I moved away from him. A bemused smile flitted onto his face. “So, Gloria. Are you playing a game tonight? Hard to get?”
I wrinkled my nose. He chuckled. “That nose thing is one of the things I love about you.”
I cringed. Why did he say the L-word? He wasn’t making it easy for me to stay in control.
He told his driver Orson to take us to Raoul’s on Spring Street.
“Have you ever eaten there?” he asked.
I’d heard of the restaurant, one of the city’s original French bistros, but had never eaten there. I shook my head.
“The food is delicious. And the atmosphere’s great. There’s even a fortuneteller who holds court in the loft. Maybe you can ask her about our future.”
I cringed. I knew the answer to that already. There was none.